Brooke Marlowe is 14. She has been 14 for 5 years. She has been born into a family who cannot die. In the Marlowe family you could be any age before you stop growing.
Brooke has to take year nine over and over again and she's sick of it. Her little brother is older than her and the family have to move again but this time Brooke doesn't want to go. She's found love.


2. New

The class scrutinised her intently as Brooke traipsed into the classroom. She felt thirty pairs of  eyes burning into the back of her neck as she made her way to  the only empty seat, at the front of the room. It wasn't suprising she was gaining so many strange looks. Although far from ugly, Brooke was not exactly  pretty; at least not in the conventional sense. Her dark hair hung way past her waist, the near blacck color contrasting with her pale skin. Brooke's face was sheet white, making her appear almost ill in comparison to the tanned skin of her new classmates. 

A low murmuring hung over the class. In between unpacking her school books, Brooke hear the whispers. '....the new girl....', '...looks so pale...' And '...what's her name?' It was no longer a new sensation for Brooke. The four times previously 'starting' year nine had taught her it was best to keep her mouth shut- at least for the first few days. Suss everyone else out, work out who's popular, who's the class bully. Then plan her own character accordingly.

Finally, nearly ten minutes late, the teacher strode through the door. 

"Open the books at page 74 and answer the questions." The teacher barked breathlessly, in a distinctly Italian accent. As if under an enchantment, the class opened the textbooks in almost complete unison. The only sound to be heard was the rustling of paper and clicking of pens, followed by the scratching of ink to paper. Never had Brooke seen a class behave so well because of the mere presence of a teacher. Shaking her head in disbelief, Brooke looked down to answer the questions. 

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